


Hang the Moon, Hang the Stars

by Sapphic_Futurist



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist
Summary: “You can be anything here. I thought you would have figured that out already. So, what’ll it be? Depression beard Cap? Motorcycle Cap? Phil-Coulson’s-Wet-Dream Cap?”“Tony," Steve says, "why are we here?”“Isn’t that the question I should be askingyou?”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 151





	Hang the Moon, Hang the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, something that's not bitterly angsty or dark. I promise this one is soft as fuck and has a nice, gentle ending because I just have a lot of feelings these days, okay? 
> 
> I owe the biggest shoutout to [semioticdaydream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semioticdaydream/profile) for her gracious, thorough notes on this fic. There's no way it would have shaped up this way without her. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Before Steve even opens his eyes, he knows he’s back in Avengers Tower. The thick, old blankets curl around him and a lifetime of memories drifting through the apartment. Of all the places his mind takes him in his sleep, Steve hasn’t been here in years. 

Cracking one eye open, Steve’s surprised by how vivid everything seems. The sun is bright, spilling through the floor to ceiling windows and bathing the room in warm light. His heart races in his chest at the thought that they might all be here tonight—his team, comfortable and domestic, waiting for him just outside the door to his apartment. 

The Tower was always the one place he’d felt at home and he’s grateful to be here, even for a little while. Maybe this dream can be one that lasts.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Steve calls out, blinking away sleep.

“It’s nice to see you again, Captain Rogers.” The warm lilt of Tony’s AI brings tears to his eyes and the tinny echo of his voice is so real Steve almost allows himself to question if this is a dream at all. “Welcome home.”

He springs out of bed with as much speed as he can at this advanced age. Steve is tired. The type of bone-weary tired that makes every breath a battle and every footstep a trek through layers of quicksand. It feels like his time must be coming soon, and when it does Steve will be ready.

He got a little more than a slice of that life Tony was always telling him about, and when he looks back at the chapters of his life, the paragraphs are growing shorter and every sentence has a period.

All except one.

Steve imagines it would be a challenge to find any man without regrets in his life. Perhaps his regrets are more massive than most, revolving around missed opportunities and the mistakes he’s made along the way but underneath that regret is a surprising sense of peace. It settles heavily on his shoulders and is not entirely unwelcome. 

It’s not as if he could do it all again. 

“Is Tony here?” Steve asks, eager even though he already knows the answer.

Tony will be here because he’s always there. Every dream, every nightmare; all roads lead back to Tony. 

“Of course, Captain. You can find him down in the workshop. Should I notify Sir that you are on your way down?”

Steve smiles at the nearest camera. “Something tells me he might already know I’m coming.”

“Sir’s been expecting you for a long time.” It sounds as if J.A.R.V.I.S. could be smiling.

Steve makes his way down to the workshop slowly, savouring each step through the Tower. He lets his hand slide over the back of the oversized couch, rewarded with visions of Natasha and Clint piled onto Thor, all curled under a blanket with Bruce scribbling in a notebook at their feet. In his mind’s eye they’re all so young, finding meaning in place and family for the very first time.

Out of the corner of his eye he can imagine Tony at the coffee machine, hands flying like little birds that light on coffee mugs and bags of fancy, dark roast beans. When he looks over, the kitchen is empty but Steve’s chest feels full and content. 

The elevator bell chimes and Steve half expects to see Phil, striding towards him in a pristine suit with laughter teasing at the corner of his eyes. The door opens but the elevator is empty. All of his dreams come with a pinprick of bittersweetness along the edges and Steve’s come to accept that not unlike his life, with immense joy comes red-rims of pain. 

He hobbles into the elevator. “The workshop please, J.A.R.V.I.S.” 

The elevator takes him down in silence and as he steps out, his eyes prickle again at the sound of AC/DC radiating from the workshop, so loud it could rattle the spotless glass. Tony is there with his back turned to the windows, a soldering tip in one hand and an Iron Man gauntlet balanced precariously in the other.

He’s not wearing safety goggles, and Steve considers chiding him, just for old time’s sake. With a hand on the door, he pauses. 

There’s so much water under the bridge, so much Steve should say. He’s often wondered if that’s what these dreams are about: preparing himself for whatever comes next with a clear conscience and giving him an opportunity to apologize, to come clean, to make things right before he’s finally able to move on.

In his nightmares he belongs in Hell for all that’s happened between them, but if this is Hell, he’d stay. He’d stay here forever just to catch a glimpse of Tony’s body moving like liquid confidence, his bright eyes mapping out another genius invention.

The music cuts off abruptly when Steve pushes the door open and Tony turns, eyes lighting up as a broad grin spreads across his face. “You’re really putting the ‘old’ in old man these days, aren’t you, Cap?”

Steve huffs a laugh, leaning heavily on the door frame as he tries to drink Tony in and commit him to memory. There’s something different about this Tony, something Steve can’t quite place.

When he’s dreamed about him before, Tony is always older and recalled from the part of his mind where Tony will remember Ultron and Siberia, all the secrets that Steve has kept along the way.

Maybe this Tony doesn't know the heartache they’ve wagered against each other. The thought is unsettling; Steve hardly remembers who he was back then and this isn’t who he wants to be tonight.

There’s no question that this is the Tony he fell in love with—Tony’s not even forty yet, the arc reactor still embedded in his chest and bathing his worktable in a soft, blue light. The fine lines of his goatee are more black than grey and there’s a smear of motor oil spreading across his jaw that makes his facial hair look lopsided.

Maybe later, Steve will rub it away with his fingers.

“Hi, Tony.”

“Hi, Steve.” Tony sets the gauntlet aside and powers down the tools he’s been working with. Steve jumps when something moves out of the corner of his eye but it’s only DUM-E rolling towards him, whirring with excitement. “Oh, I get it.” Tony points an accusatory finger at DUM-E. “You’re here for him.”

“Hi, buddy.” Steve really is going to cry now. He wraps both arms around DUM-E’s struts and hugs him, leaning all his weight on the bot as the whirring gets louder. DUM-E vibrates in his eagerness, the pulses reverberating through Steve’s body in little quakes. “I missed you.”

“Seriously, why do you look like that?” Tony draws closer and Steve’s body feels ready to give out. When he sways on his feet, Tony darts out to catch him under one arm. “This is not your best look. One out of ten. I don’t even want to know what America’s ass is looking like these days.”

“Nobody’s asking you to look, To—” His name gets lost in a fit of coughing and Steve allows himself to be led to the old leather couch in the corner of the workshop. 

He drops down, all his weight collapsing onto the cool leather, before he gives Tony a grateful look.

Tony perches beside him, settling on the edge of the cushions with concern lingering in his features until the coughing stops. Eventually, he continues, “You can be anything here. I thought you would have figured that out already. So, what’ll it be? Depression beard Cap? Motorcycle Cap? Phil-Coulson’s-Wet-Dream Cap?”

So maybe this Tony does remember. Steve doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

As Tony continues to babble, Steve knows that he’s staring. 

Tonight feels like more than a dream or a memory; his subconscious calls up every fine line right down to a perfect replication of the little scar along the edge of Tony’s jaw and the deep line that creases between his eyebrows. Steve wants to bring those lines to life with a stick of charcoal, and maybe if he asks, Tony will let him draw him like this for nostalgia’s sake. 

It’s been a long time since he’s picked up a pencil. His muse died on the battlefield years ago.

Not that what Steve wants is of any consequence. The circumstances of his dreams may always be different, but the storyline remains the same. 

Steve loves him, and tells him, whatever form that may take.

“Oh, I know!” Tony’s still talking. “Let’s go with pre-serum Steve. I always wanted to meet that feisty little guy.”

“Trading out one broken down body for another? Not your best idea. Three out of ten.”

“Good one,” Tony snarks. “But really, Steve. You can be whatever part of you you’d like.”

Steve frowns. “How?”

Tony shoots him an odd look, one corner of his mouth dipping down. “Just think about which version of yourself you liked the best, and blink. It’s that simple.”

“Oh, right. How did I never think of that?”

Tony grins. “There’s only so much genius to go around and you’re looking a little worse for wear these days. Don’t sweat it.”

It’s not hard to pick a self. They were always at their best like this, their history waiting to be mapped out. Long before the cracks and fissures formed as the years went on.

This is Tony at his prime, the Tony that found Steve when he was still trapped in the frozen wasteland of his own mind and gave him a home.

He closes his eyes, breathing in the aroma of Tony’s expensive cologne and the lingering smell of burnt metal in the air. When he opens them, he’s twenty-seven again and a lock of hair falls forward over his face. The button-down and slacks are comforting, wrapping him up in history and a visceral sense of familiarity that shakes him to his core. 

“There he is.” Tony leans forward to brush his hair back from his face. “I always loved your hair like this. Gotta say though, Rogers. I did not love these pants.”

Without even thinking, Steve catches Tony’s hand before it falls away and presses the palm against his cheek. Rough calluses rasp across his face and Tony is looking at him with an uncertain awe, as if Steve’s already hung the moon and he’s still searching the sky for the stars.

“Tony, why are we here?”

“Isn’t that the question I should be asking you?” 

Steve frowns. It doesn’t seem like Tony is being intentionally cryptic and his eyes search Steve’s as if he’s looking for answers. If he is, surely Tony must know by now—Steve is all out of answers. He’s been out of answers for years.

“I mean, you’re always here. But we’re not always _here_ here.”

The crease is back between Tony’s eyebrows, his nose wrinkling in confusion. He still hasn’t pulled his hand away and the heat that radiates from his palm warms Steve like dying embers still burning low. “I’m not following you, Steve.”

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Steve blurts, because it feels like the next right thing to say. It seems to catch Tony off guard.

“Okay.” 

Tony narrows his eyes and Steve waits for whatever comes next. Why does he feel so uneasy? It’s normally so much simpler than this; they fuck, or they fight and even if they fight, they still end in a vicious, raging heap on the floor with Tony buried deep inside him. 

Those aren’t his favourite dreams, but in the larger scheme of things, there hasn’t been a single moment he didn’t cherish. Steve gathers every interaction in his mental Rolodex, each one unique and delicate, like tiny snowflakes gathering in his palms.

“Is that… is that what you wanted to talk about right now?” Tony asks.

How would Steve know? Last night they hadn’t even talked at all.

Steve had marched straight into Tony’s workshop at the Compound, spun him around to plant his hands between flowing rivers of wire and tugged his pants down, savouring the way Tony panted out his name while he gasped into the unforgiving metal worktable.

The night before that, Tony held him while he cried, an ice storm screaming through the bunker around them. When the sun rose, Tony slipped away quietly.

Sometimes there was no need for talking at all. Steve would let himself luxuriate in the feeling of Tony in his arms, trading a lifetime’s worth of lazy kisses, long overdue.

No, he decides. Steve doesn’t want to talk.

He wants to wrap Tony up in his arms and never let him go. He wants to watch Tony’s face open with laughter as he throws DUM-E’s tennis ball around the workshop, and listen to the rock music he still can’t stand. 

Steve wants to _remember_ , and he wants Tony to know that it’s been him since the beginning.

“I love you,” he says, instead of responding to the question Tony’s asked.

Tony’s eyes melt into molasses, shining and bottomless. “So that’s why I’m here,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Took you long enough, don’t you think?”

“My biggest regret,” Steve says, solemn, and to his surprise, Tony laughs.

“Wow, okay.” Tony forces out an uncertain breath before he pulls back the hand on Steve’s face and runs it through his own hair.

The motor oil is still shimmering against his cheek and Steve’s fingers twitch at his side, restless with the urge to rub it away. If Tony makes light of this, the scaffold around Steve’s heart will fold and Steve’s not strong enough for that. He’s not.

“Okay,” Tony repeats. “Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting—” He breaks off, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah. I love you, too. It’s always been you, Steve.”

For some reason, it doesn’t feel as good as it normally does. When Steve’s had a chance to apologize, when they’ve half-ruined each other and left throbbing, purpling bruises on hips and shoulders, it feels like a salve to have earned Tony’s love. To know that he’s worked it, to know that it comes on the heels of something painful because everything between them has _always_ been painful.

Now, Steve feels like his whole body is on fire and Tony is only putting out the parts he can reach. He aches, breath tight in his lungs, and he wants Tony to put his hands back on his face, press teeth into his throat, and make promises they don’t have any more time to keep.

Steve knows it’s not real. It’s never real. Not even when it feels like it could be.

Tony must see something in his face because he frowns and says, “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you, but you always say the same thing.”

“Spend a lot of time dreaming about me, huh Rogers?”

He swallows, emotion caught in his throat. “Please don’t call me that.”

Tony gives him a calculating look, like Steve’s a series of codes he can’t quite figure out, tongue trapped between his teeth and poking just barely at the inside of his cheek. “Steve.” Tony ducks his head when Steve looks away, holding his eye. “Steve. Just—I’m here for you. I’m here _for you_. I do love you, even after—maybe everything from before doesn’t have to matter right now.”

Of course, it matters. It’s the only goddamn thing that ever matters. 

Steve closes his eyes against the tears threatening to fall with his hands folded in his lap. 

_Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up._

When he opens his eyes again, Tony is still there, concern etched into the flawed marble of his skin. “You were always so dense. Skull thicker than cement, I swear.”

“Tony—”

Before he can get another word out, Tony surges forward and kisses him, his mouth firm but pliant over Steve’s. Tonight, Tony’s kiss is awkward and uncertain. There’s a slight tremble to his hands, unsteady when he reaches up to frame Steve’s face and as one palm drifts down his neck, Steve can feel the way Tony’s breathing shudders and he leans further into the kiss. 

Their bodies don’t touch at any other point and it feels so foreign, so unrealistic that Steve wants to scream. It’s not fair that Tony would treat him so kindly, with ginger fingers as if he’s afraid that too much might overwhelm him.

Gasping into Tony’s mouth, torn between the desire to melt into the fantasy and shove it away, Steve tips Tony’s head back and claims him. He’s not here for awkward, fumbling kisses. He’s here for the passion and the rage, the atonement he never finds in his waking life.

He wants Tony to make this real and it’s only ever felt real when one of them is hurting. 

A rush of anger floods him and Steve fists his hands in Tony’s t-shirt, tugging him forward almost violently, trying to dig his way inside Tony’s body and never leave. He presses them together as best he can until Tony finally gets with the program and throws a leg over Steve’s hips to straddle his thighs but Tony holds back. His hands slide into Steve’s hair but don’t pull, he just tilts Steve’s head back and kisses him like he really means it, slipping his tongue gently into Steve’s mouth and licking along his lower lip.

Steve breathes in Tony’s air until it almost feels like they could be one person, homeostatic. Whole.

Faintly, Steve wonders if the grip he has locked on Tony’s waist is tight enough to hurt, but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. He just kisses Steve again and again, mouths meeting in a first dance that turn wetter and sloppier as the desperation starts to leak from Steve’s pores. It feels like the earth is going to give way and crumble underneath him.

When the kisses turn salty Tony yanks his head back, leaving Steve’s mind in a whirl.

“Hey, what’s this?” Tony brushes away the tears creeping out of the corner of his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to talk,” Steve mutters, capturing his mouth again and bucking his hips up to meet Tony’s.

Tony groans, an intoxicating sound that beelines straight to Steve’s cock. He wants to hear it again. He wants to hear it on a loop alongside breathy moans and the way Tony’s voice cracks into a whine when lips struggle to wrap around Steve’s name.

“Okay. Okay, I know.” Tony braces a hand on his chest and pulls away, crawling out of Steve’s lap. “I don’t want to talk either. Come on.”

For a minute Steve blinks up at Tony, waiting for him to disappear, but Tony just reaches out a hand and hauls him to his feet.

When he blinks again, they’re in Tony’s bedroom, or at least, what Steve’s always imagined Tony’s bedroom in the Tower would look like. It’s immaculate, standing in contrast to the disorganization of his workshop, with a massive, self-indulgent bed in the centre of the room. Always the first to claim the title ‘hedonist,’ Steve expected Tony to wrap himself in red silks with sheets that would slide across their skin like liquid desire, but instead the bedspread is made of soft, warm-looking cotton. The muted tones reach up to draw Steve in, calling out and inviting him to stay forever. 

Tony hesitates, hands fluttering at his sides as he presses up against Steve in a hot line from hip to shoulder.

“This—this is what you wanted, right? Is this—” Tony frowns at him. “Yeah, I might need just a little talking. Help me out, is this what you want?”

“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” Steve says honestly, twisting his fingers with Tony’s.

The air around them feels thick and heavy. This Tony isn’t the same willing, crazed participant he usually is, but it’s almost sweeter this way.

It’s so rarely sweet between them and Steve gives himself a silent warning not to get used to it. Better to prepare for the inevitable than get lost in the fantasy. 

When he tugs lightly on Tony’s hand, Tony jerks towards him, arms springing up to wrap around Steve’s neck. As Tony draws him down, Steve thinks Tony might be the only thing anchoring them to the earth, and the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss speaks more words than Steve could ever capture.

They unwrap each other with reverent fingers and it feels like touching bare skin for the first time. Tony’s work-rough hands explore the planes of his chest, thumbs dragging over his nipples and pressing down into the buttresses of his hips. The arc reactor gives off a gentle hum, lighting up Tony’s face and reflecting in the blown-black of his eyes and Steve considers that it might be impossible to resist Tony this way.

While he touches him, Tony never stops kissing him. Maybe between one kiss to the next he could reach inside Steve’s body and yank out his soul. 

Steve would give it to him if he asked.

“This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a while,” Tony teases as Steve herds him backward towards the bed.

Tony falls onto the mattress, tugging Steve down until he’s covering Tony from head to toe, soaking up every point of contact his body can find. The hair on Tony’s calves rasp against his thigh as Tony wraps a leg around Steve’s hip and the arc reactor bites sharply into his chest.

Tony is gloriously naked and Steve should wait, pull back to savour his beautiful form, but it feels like too much effort to draw himself away from Tony’s sparkling gaze. Desire pulses between his legs as Tony brushes up against him, cock hard and nudging against Steve’s hip.

“It’s never been like this before,” Steve whispers.

Tony brushes back his hair, letting one of his thumbs trace along his lips. “It can be whatever you want.” 

He drops his forehead to the arc reactor, listening to the steady thump of Tony’s heart. He wonders if Tony knew he could hear it all along. Steve’s long since memorized every pattern: the way Tony’s heart rate picks up when he’s soaring through the sky, the way it settles to baseline when Clint hands over the last slice of pizza and their movie nights come to an end.

Irregular, and at times terrifyingly slow, but beating in his chest all the same. “I haven’t heard this in so long,” Steve says, and Tony doesn’t ask so he must already know. 

It’s the final straw, because Steve is only a man; a man in love and if Tony will have him like this, if Tony will wrap him in soft, sweet touches and whispered words, why would Steve deny himself? 

Twining their fingers together, he presses Tony’s hands over his head, stretching out over him until their hips fit together, rolling as the pleasure builds low in his stomach. He wants to take his time, guide Tony to a peak just to hold him there, not letting him tip over until Tony’s desperate and pleading, out of his mind with need. 

Steve just wants to feel alive.

“ _Steve._ ” Tony says his name like a prayer, cheek ghosting along his. The warm burn of Tony’s short-trimmed stubble is an afterthought, two seconds behind the hands that can’t seem to stop touching him and Tony’s body, constantly in motion as he wraps around Steve and draws him in. 

There’s no hurry, no desperate flurry to race against the clock. Steve sucks marks into Tony’s neck, working his way down to his collarbone. “I dream about you every night. Only you. Always you. Then I wake up alone and I wait all day to see you again.”

A sad noise rumbles in the back of his throat as Tony threads fingers through Steve’s hair. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Steve smiles against his chest, reaching down to tug one of Tony’s thighs up higher. His erection rests heavy in the cradle of Tony’s body, slick and drooling with want against the trimmed hair between Tony’s legs. “You always say that.”

“Guess I must be predictable.”

“You’ve never been predictable a day in your life.”

Tony grins at him, hands tracing over his face, curling down around his shoulders. In the easy intimacy of Tony’s touches, Steve’s hardly realized how the lust has tapered low, but when Tony’s hips roll up to greet his own, the need roars back to life, anticipation hammering in his chest. 

“Do you have any idea?” Steve asks, finally letting one of his hands wander between them to take Tony’s cock in his hand. It’s hot and heavy, jerking against his fingers in a desperate plea to be held and Steve drags his fingers from base to tip in long, sure strokes. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Tony groans, nails raking over Steve’s back in a hot and cold trail leading to the curve of his ass. “Fuck me. Come on. Don’t make me wait, Steve, please.”

“Don’t want to fuck you.” Steve tightens up his grip, licking a stripe up Tony’s throat to his ear as he strokes him. When he rolls his thumb over the leaking head, Tony’s hips twitch towards him, eyes going hazy with pleasure. “Just want to make love to you. Love you so fucking much, Tony.”

Tony swallows audibly and Steve wants to laugh. He knows exactly how Tony must feel; he’s overwhelmed, too. He’s drowning in Tony, in the salty taste of his skin and the earthy smell of his shampoo, the way his skin is softer than Steve could have ever imagined, lined with thick, corded muscles from so much time spent in the workshop. 

When Tony’s body bucks up again it takes Steve a moment to realize Tony is squirming away from him, wriggling close enough to the edge of the bed to fumble his way to a bottle of lube. He presses it into Steve’s hand and Steve presses it right back.

A small smile spreads across Tony’s face. “Really?”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“You’re full of surprises today, Captain. What’s one more?” As Tony nudges at Steve’s shoulder, he goes willingly.

Tony spreads a palm over his chest, kneeling between his legs and tracing a path down his belly. His eyes darken and Steve’s tongue darts out to dry chapped lips as he lets his fingers trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock. He’s so hard it feels like he might burst, but not before he gets Tony’s fingers inside him—gets all of Tony inside him.

And Tony does, sliding slick fingers over his hole before pressing inside at a devastating pace. Tony explores the inside of his body as thoroughly as the rest of him, curling and pressing until he finds the spot that makes Steve gasp, his hips jumping up to chase the sensation as Tony works him over. 

The wet tip of Tony’s tongue teases the head of his cock, making Steve gasp. “Tony, please.”

“Anything. Anything for you.”

It doesn’t take long before Steve’s body opens to welcome the intrusion and when Tony pulls his fingers free and braces himself on an arm above Steve’s head, their lips meet again. They share air, share hot, heavy kisses composed of tongue and unspoken promises until Steve can’t think.

The blunt head of Tony’s cock pushes into him and Steve feels made whole. In Tony’s arms he’s alive, reaching up to touch the sun and bottle the clouds. “Tell me again, Tony. Please,” he begs, tugging gently at the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck.

“I love you.” Tony fucks his tongue into his mouth as he slides in, inch by delicate inch, and when his hips are flush with Steve’s ass, Steve clenches down around him, locking his legs at Tony’s narrow hips to keep him close. “I love you. Fuck, do I love you.”

He’s never going to let Tony go. He never wants to wake up. He never wants to take another breath when Tony isn’t there to share it with him.

“Show me,” Steve murmurs.

It must be all the permission Tony needs because he gasps into Steve’s mouth and then he’s driving into Steve with purpose, letting his hips glide all the way back to bury himself to the hilt. If Tony wants him to feel every stroke of his cock inside him, he hits the mark. The slick sounds of their bodies meeting echo alongside Tony’s sharp little breaths and Steve’s hands slide down to Tony’s hips, tugging him closer, needing to feel him as deep as Tony can possibly get.

It’s amazing. It’s perfect. It’s _everything_ and Steve doesn’t bother trying to hold back a moan. 

“Harder.” Steve’s heels press into the small of Tony’s back as his nails dig into soft, malleable skin until Steve’s sure he’ll leave marks. “Tony please— _oh god,_ yes, just like that.”

Tony picks up the pace, biting down on Steve’s lip as something desperate wriggles free and explodes between them. Tony fucks into him until Steve doesn’t have to worry about all the years they’ve wasted. Everything pales in comparison to this moment, right now, and the way that Tony’s hand comes down to wrap around his cock, slick with lube and the precome leaking steadily from the tip to pump him in times with his thrusts. 

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes until Tony’s hips stutter and one hand settles on the side of his face.

“Look at me,” Tony demands, his voice a low grow. He nips Steve’s lip again as Steve struggles to fuck himself back onto Tony’s cock, planting his feet on the mattress for leverage. “You’re perfect, Steve.”

“Don’t stop.” Steve desperately clings to the edges of his orgasm, terrified it could all be ripped away in a second. He’s not ready to wake up, he’s not. “Tony. Tony, _please_.” 

“I’ve got you. You feel so good—couldn’t stop if I wanted to. Never going to stop.” Tony drives back into him, slamming against his hips until everything narrows to the rough glide of Tony’s cock against his prostate and the way his fist flies over Steve’s cock, twisting under the head until stars dance at the edge of his vision.

He can’t stop staring into Tony’s eyes, trapped in the ever-expanding cosmos in Tony’s irises. “God, _Tony_.”

It’s not enough—

Steve flips them over, bucking his hips to tumble Tony sideways and he sinks back down before Tony can catch a breath. With a hand splayed over his chest, Steve can gaze into the depth of those eyes and know what it’s like to come home.

He can’t believe he could have had this all along. That this Tony, the Tony he fell in love with, the only one who evades his dreams and smirks in the shadowy backdrop in the far corner of his mind—this Tony would have had him, even then.

“Never seen anything like you, Steve.” Tony’s hands are on his hips, roughly pulling him forward then guiding him back. “Never thought you’d— _fuck_ , that’s it darling, yes, you’re so gorgeous—never thought you’d want this in a million years and now you’re mine. All mine.”

“Yours,” Steve slurs leaning down to rub his cheek against Tony’s goatee just to feel the burn of his stubble again. Maybe later, Tony will let Steve feel it somewhere else; somewhere he can keep it, as a little secret reminder that this really happened. 

Maybe it will stay until he wakes. 

He rides Tony until his thighs burn and Tony is cursing under him, driving up into him at a frantic pace. It’s better than it’s ever been before and Steve thinks he might never get enough of this. He can’t have this just once.

“Come,” Tony bites out, fingers wrapping around Steve’s cock, stripping him roughly until he’s reduced to atoms and the pleasure that chases away any lingering doubt and uncertainty, wiping his mind blissfully blank. 

If Tony wants him to come, he’ll come. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

“If you’re mine, I want you to come for me,” Tony grunts, and the rough order sends him jerking forward, panting into Tony’s throat as the building waves crest and he comes in hot stripes, shooting up Tony’s chest while the pleasure races all the way down to his toes. He’s laid bare, flying apart with only Tony’s hands on his hips to hold him down. 

There’s just _forever_ and _love_ , and more importantly, _Tony_.

Without even thinking, he thumbs some of the spend near Tony’s nipple and presses it into Tony’s mouth, chasing after it with his tongue.

That’s all it takes for Tony. He arches up underneath Steve, hips slamming into his ass until Steve can feel every jerk and jolt of Tony’s cock, filling him with a wet heat that makes his own cock twitch again with renewed interest. It’s too soon but he clenches down anyways, pleasure bordering on too much, just to hear Tony gasp and drive up into him again.

Then Steve collapses in a heap, his last brain cell working to keep his weight off Tony’s decidedly smaller frame and as he presses their lips together, little more than a smear of lips, Tony whispers a babble of praise in his ears. 

“Fuck,” Tony says eventually, sounding more coherent. He rubs Steve’s nose with his own and cups his cheek. “Fucking hell, Steve.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughs. He actually, genuinely laughs and he feels lighter than he has in years, heart brimming to overflow with love, everything Tony has ever represented in his world boiling down into this one, perfect moment. “Thank you.”

Tony gives him a nudge and Steve lands on his back on the mattress, crowding up against Tony’s side and offering an arm for Tony to curl into. “‘Thank you,’ he says. Comes here, fucks my brains out in the best sex I’ve had in my goddamn life and all he has to say is ‘ _thank you_?’”

It’s like Steve can’t stop. He kisses Tony again between the laughter, hard-pressed to frown when Tony reaches over to wipe the drying come off them both with the edge of the sheets.

“What more do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” Tony says and he sounds certain. “Tell me you love me again.”

“Love you.”

They must lay there for a while, Steve losing himself in the warmth of Tony’s bed. He drifts long enough that the tips of his fingers start to tingle from the path they’ve been stroking up and down Tony’s flank.

Tony’s breathing evens out, tempered and slow. If he hadn’t known better, Steve might’ve thought he was sleeping. Usually at this point Steve is waking up, rolling his sore shoulders and filing away another harsh, impossible fantasy so he can greet the day.

But this time Tony stays with him, growing restless and propping himself up on an elbow, one arm tucking around Steve’s middle. “You want to explain to me how you got so old so quick?”

“Not really,” Steve admits, sheepish.

“I told you not to fuck with the timelines. You really never listen, do you?” Steve shakes his head with only a sliver of remorse but Tony’s still smiling, tracing idle patterns down Steve’s stomach and back again. “Where did you go?”

“Back to Peggy.”

Tony tilts his head and gives him a calculating look. It would be reasonable for Tony to be angry or resentful, and Steve steadies himself for whatever comes next. There had been so many times back in the early days he spent with Peggy, enjoying a peaceful evening in their perfect little house, when he’d hear Tony in his head. 

_After everything you went through to get Barnes back, after everything you did to us, this is what you chose? Coward._

There have been just as many nights when he sits, eyes downcast, while Tony tells him the same. But that isn’t what Tony says this time. He just rubs a thumb across one of Steve’s nipples and asks, “Were you happy there?”

“For the most part. It wasn’t this—wasn’t you. But I loved her, too. It wasn’t always easy, and some days I thought about going back. But it was a beautiful life and I wouldn’t change it.”

Tony nods. “I get that.”

The guilt in his chest starts to ease, his conscience absolved. This Tony is so unpredictable. He can’t tell where they’re headed next, or what to say. He’s making it up as he goes along, not unlike the rest of his life, and his thoughts drift to Tony’s family. Tony had so little time to enjoy the life he’d built for himself and Steve had gone ahead and stolen a whole extra lifetime. 

“Pepper misses you.” Steve says quietly. Tony’s face falters and his lips spasm into a tight line. “Morgan too. I visit with her when I can. She’s incredible.”

“Jesus, Steve.” Tony’s eyes are wet and Steve reaches over to brush his fingertips at the creases, holding off on sharing how Morgan curls up against his chest and retells the fairy tales that Tony has told her through her childhood. “Warn a guy, would you? You’re really giving me some real emotional whiplash here.”

“Sorry. It feels like there’s a lot to say and I don’t know how much time I have.”

Tony pauses and raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I wish I could stay here forever.” Steve lets his head drop back against the pillows. He curls Tony closer to his chest. “Is that selfish of me?”

“But you can. Of course, it’s not selfish. That’s… that’s the whole point?”

Steve sighs. “It always ends eventually, Tony.”

Tony is silent for a long time and when Steve looks up, his face is sad. It feels like they’re having two different conversations and when Tony clears his throat, shoulders ticking up stiffly, dread runs down Steve’s spine like an ice bath. Before Tony even opens his mouth, Steve’s breath catches and he starts to consider that the uncertainty he’s been feeling speaks to something more than he’d originally anticipated. 

At least Tony has always been straight with him. “Just tell me,” Steve forces out, throat suddenly raw. 

“Steve.” Tony tugs the blanket up higher before he brushes fingers along Steve’s jaw. “I thought you knew.” As Tony shifts to sit up against the headboard, Steve resists the urge to crawl after him. One more minute, he thinks, just one more. He closes his eyes and Tony says, “Steve, I… This—you died. Sometime in the night. I thought you knew. I don’t know why but I thought you already knew.”

Steve reels back, shocked. “What?”

 _Died_?

There’s an immediate rush of panic to the tune of _Sam, Bucky, what about Morgan and Peter and Pepper._ He’s not ready. This can’t be real. It can’t be real because it’s too soon. There’s still more he has to do, people he has to look after. It has to be a mistake.

But then as quickly as it comes, the panic recedes.

Steve’s been ready for this for weeks, feeling his body falling apart around him even as his mind remained alert and focused. It was a terrible type of prison and one of the few times he’d felt human in decades.

They’d told him Captain America wouldn’t age, that Steve would be trapped in a cage of his own making while his loved ones grew old and died around him. Something about his journey into the past had changed everything. He hadn’t been prepared to step out of the portal and be an old man, but an odd sense of relief had followed soon after. 

Steve was ready, wasn’t he?

Sam would be the next Captain America. Bucky had Sam. Morgan and Peter would have each other, surrounded by Pepper and Happy and Rhodey. Clint had his family and Bruce was finally moving on with his life, figuring out how to live for the first time. It was more than Tony ever got before his time came.

So what else was there?

Steve waits for the regret to set in, staring at Tony as if he’s seeing him for the very first time, but it doesn’t come. 

“Steve,” Tony says, voice a gentle brush over Steve’s raw nerves. “It’s okay. I promise, it’s alright.”

He can’t hold back the tears, eyes blurry, and Tony’s concerned face swims before his eyes. “Then, where are we? What is this place?”

“Would you believe me if I said this was the final adventure?” Tony says, voice hitching on a disbelieving laugh. “I have no idea, really. Some people have called it Heaven. Some people think it’s like living in a permanent dream.”

“But what do you think?” Tony always has the answers. That’s just how it goes.

“Honestly, Steve?” Tony smiles. “I have no idea.”

“You figured out time travel and you haven’t figured this out yet?” Steve grins up at him, Tony’s smile contagious. “That doesn’t sound like Tony Stark to me.”

Something slowly relaxes in Tony’s shoulders and he tugs Steve in close again. “You’re taking this remarkably well. No panic? Wait, what exactly did you think was happening this whole time?”

A rush of warmth floods Steve’s cheeks as he flushes, glancing down at the arc reactor then forcing himself to meet Tony’s eye. Now that it's real, embarrassment comes tumbling forward and he’s nervous. Nervous that Tony will change his mind and push him away when Steve’s heart can’t take that.

He can’t find the right words, shaking his head helplessly. 

Tony’s face goes carefully neutral. “Regrets?” 

This thing they have, it’s delicate. If Steve were to hazard a guess, hope is blooming in Tony’s chest the same way it is in his own, and he knows better than to crush something so precious. 

“I have a lot of regrets about a lot of things,” Steve says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But not this, Tony, never. It’s a shock, yes, but—but it’s amazing. I never thought… I never anticipated that you’d—”

“You called me here, you know. Something in this crazy universe thought the first thing you needed to see when you came here was some handsome genius.”

“Is that right?” Steve asks, resting his cheek against Tony’s shoulder. “I’m not surprised. This is where I fell in love with you.”

Tony inhales, sharply. “You can’t just say things like that.”

After all these years of drifting between places he never belonged, Steve will say whatever he wants. It’s been a lifetime of fulfilling mission after mission, one task to the next and living for the adrenaline and the purpose of Captain America.

Maybe he’s earned this. Maybe this is Steve Rogers’ lot in life; a gift after so many backbreaking, heart-wrenching years. “It wouldn’t have been anyone else, Tony. It was you or nothing.”

Tony kisses him again, grinning against his mouth. “So, let’s review. You die and the first thing you want is to play with my bots and get fucked? You’re one hell of a man, Steve.”

It’s light and teasing, but there’s so much more than that and they both know it. That’s not why Tony is here at all. Tony has always been home. It doesn’t take a lot of thought to know that this makes sense.

Then it hits him. “Who was here? After Thanos? Who was here for you?”

“My mom,” Tony breathes. “Just my mom.”

“Oh Tony, can I—could I meet her? Is that how this works? Would you want me to—”

“Yes. Fuck yes. You want to?” Tony shakes his head, eyes round as saucers and rife with disbelief. “How is this so simple? You’re here, you love me, and now you want to meet my mother. Who are you and what did you do with Steve Rogers?”

“I’m a man who wasted a lot of time, Tony. I hope I get enough to make it all up to you.”

“Later,” Tony says. “We’ll sort everything out later.”

It starts to sink in. This really is forever. There’s going to be a later, and a much later after that and Steve can hardly wrap his head around it. 

Tony groans as he rolls out of the bed and Steve stares after him, shamelessly taking in the way his hips taper into the slope of his perfect ass. Tony is anything but flawless, body marred with scars and a little gathering of softness at the bottom of his belly, but he’s real. This is _his_ Tony.

Tony pulls on his clothes then crosses his arms over his chest. “What is this, Rogers? You die and _now_ you want to laze around? Come on, there are people waiting.”

“People?” But Steve already knows. He doesn’t know how he knows, but there’s a little tug at the back of his mind and he can _feel_ them, as clearly as if they were all sitting on the bed with him.

It steals his breath away and he looks up at Tony, awed.

“I’m going to suggest your formal Captain’s uniform. Purely selfish, I just want to see it up close. But that’s my suggestion.” Tony himself blinks once and his clothes disappear into a suit, all sharp lines and sleek angles. He’s a sight.

Steve clambers to the edge of the bed and by the time he’s on his feet he’s in his dress greens with the plinking sound of his medals brushing together where they gleam at his breast. Tony brushes his hair back again and the gesture is so gentle. Priceless.

“This is unbelievable,” Steve tells him.

“Believe it, baby. You ready?”

“Absolutely not.”

Tony laughs and takes his hand. “No, you’re definitely not, but you’re gonna love it anyway.”

With a science Steve will never understand, he blinks and they’re in the elevator. The door slides open, and Steve gasps.

Everyone is there. Everyone he could have ever wanted, spread across the couch and oversized armchairs. In the centre of the room, Peggy is flanked on either side by all the Howling Commandos, relaxing against the couch as if they’re all just there waiting for him. 

They _are_ there just waiting for him. 

Conversation stops when he steps into the room, eyes turning up expectantly, but that’s not what makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. Across the room, Steve takes in the sight of his mother, dressed in her Sunday best, as young and beautiful as he remembers her from his childhood.

He’s rooted to the spot, frozen with Tony’s warm hand on his shoulder.

“Ma,” Steve croaks.

“Hi darling.” And then she’s coming towards him, Tony stepping aside so Sarah can wrap her arms around him and tug him down into a hug. “You’ve had quite the growth spurt, haven’t you?”

Steve sputters a wet laugh and wraps his arms around her, breathing in the smell of a perfume he’s almost forgotten. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

Over Sarah’s shoulder, he sees Natasha and he can’t help it. A sob escapes him and he pitches forward out of his mother’s arms and straight into Natasha’s. “Did you miss me too, Avenger?” She asks.

Her voice is thick and watery, her hands digging into his back as if she’s trying to convince herself this is real the same way Steve is.

They’re all here. They’re all here _for him_ and Steve can’t breathe. His chest aches with it all and he wants to wrap them up in his arms and never let them go. Steve’s been so damned lonely, that even when he was with Peggy it hadn’t been quite right. 

He’s been so lonely for so long, but now love hums all around him and it’s perfect. He’s full to the brim, overflowing with warmth and peace, like he might never have to face the chill again. The ice, Siberia, all the dark things of the past flow to the sidelines because everyone is here. He’s here.

Natasha pulls away but she doesn’t go far, tucking in against one side as Tony rests a hand on Steve’s other arm, squeezing his bicep lightly to draw his attention behind him.

The elevator bell goes off and Phil steps out. “One last mission report, Captain?”

“You got up to a lot more than just defeating the Krauts, Rogers,” Dugan booms from the sofa and Steve whips back around to grin at him.

Peggy’s the last one to approach him, cupping his chin in her palm. Immediately, he knows that this isn’t the Peggy he’d been with. This is the Peggy from his own timeline, from a whole different life. “I hear we had our dance,” she says. “You didn’t have to do that, Steve. I was going to be okay; you knew that.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, even though he wouldn’t have traded those moments for the world.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony says, shoving an elbow into his ribs. “Aunt Peggy is just mad that in this timeline I got to you first.”

“Is that right, Stark?” Natasha’s eyes twinkle as she leans forward to give Tony a curious look. Steve glances between them, jaw aching and he imagines his smile can’t possibly get any wider. 

Tony waggles his eyebrows. “That’s right, Romanoff.”

Steve closes his eyes and breathes it all in. There must be a way he could trap all of this in his lungs and be surrounded by this feeling forever. Not only does he have everyone around him, but he knows now that one day everyone else he’s loved will be here too. Steve doesn’t have to say goodbye, and surely Tony will help him find ways to pass the time.

It’s more than he could have ever anticipated and it truly feels like the beginning of a new adventure.

Steve suddenly lurches off-balance when Tony tugs him down for a kiss, vibrating with an eager energy that’s infectious. Then Tony pulls back and gives Peggy a lascivious smile that makes Steve’s cheeks heat. “Want to compare notes, Pegs?”

As she shakes her head, laughing, Tony gives a soft command to J.A.R.V.I.S. and music wafts down from the speakers. It’s a bluesy tune that he remembers from the war and Tony offers up an arm.

“Oh, Tony, no,” Steve protests, holding his hands up as Gabe Jones whistles at them. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” Tony pulls him away from Nat, away from Sarah, away from everyone until his back is to them all. 

Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s neck but not before guiding Steve’s hands to his hips. And then they’re swaying together, everything else bleeding into the background while Tony plays with strands of his hair and lets his gaze drop down to Steve’s mouth.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, ignoring the wet sniffle behind him that undoubtedly belongs to Natasha. He ignores everything.

Steve presses his forehead against Tony’s and smiles. 

He’s home. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story clearly ignores Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., don't @ me. 
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://sapphic-futurist.tumblr.com/), or find me on discord lurking around POTS.


End file.
